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I scroll through a few more things, just trying to see what I can find. I check the notes app, but there’s nothing there other than a couple of shopping lists that look old.
There’s nothing useful up on his browser app at the moment either, so I close that and move on. I check the photos, just in case he’s snapped any pictures of important things.
There are several photos of sketches he’s done, taken after he finished the drawings, and I find myself scrolling through those for a bit, just admiring them.
He’s a really good artist, and everything he’s captured has a life to it that I didn’t expect. It’s clear he’s most interested in drawing people. There are several incredibly lifelike sketches of people I don’t recognize, and I wonder if they’re people he knows well or just strangers he noticed on the street and decided to capture with his pencils for some reason. There’s even a rough drawing of a man that looks enough like Levi that I feel like it has to be his older brother.
It’s clear he has talent, and I can’t stop myself from wanting to see more. I flip through some that seem to be just basic figure drawings, and then I come across a sketch of myself.
My fingers hover over the screen for a second, and I stare at it, surprised.
From the sketched out area around me, I can tell it’s from the night of the race, and I look happy. My head’s tipped back as I laugh at something—probably something Rory said, considering how Sloan was acting that day. I look genuinely happy in his sketch, and I remember feeling pretty carefree and happy that night in general.
The booze worked its wonders, and Levi and Rory were in good moods too.
For a second, my heart squeezes as I look at the picture. Is this how Levi sees me? I would’ve noticed if he was sketching while we were at the race, so that means he drew this from his memory. Just bright and happy and laughing with the two of them.
It hits me hard in the chest and nearly steals my breath.
It’s as if he wanted to remember that moment. To remember me in it.
As if he actually likes me.
He’s already said as much, of course, but with the three of them, I never know what to believe. How much of it is the game we’re playing and how much of it is the truth. Sloan always says one thing and then does another or lets his anger take over and make him do shit that contradicts what he’s said. Rory and Levi are more genuine, but with everything going on, I have to be skeptical.
But here’s proof in actions that speak even louder than words. Here’s a sketch of me that Levi took the time to draw and even snapped a picture of to save it. Because it mattered to him. Because… I matter to him?
It’s dangerous. It’s so, so dangerous, but I can’t take my eyes away from it. I should delete it. I don’t want him to have this. It makes everything too real, brings up all those feelings I’m trying to shove down and deny because I have bigger fish to fry. My finger hovers over the delete button, and I chew my bottom lip hard, not sure what to do.
If I delete it, he’ll know I went into his phone. That’s too dangerous.
I sigh softly, hit the power button on the side to dim the screen, and put his phone back on the coffee table before he can catch me looking.
Levi sleeps on, none the wiser to what I’ve just found out, comfortable and at ease.
Rising carefully from the couch, I make myself get up to go back to my room. Something tugs in my chest when I look down at him again,
a pull that urges me to lie back down with him. Deep in my heart, I can admit that I really want to believe he cares about me. That the feelings are real and not just some lie.
When I think about it, I do believe it, but I just don’t believe it’s enough. He’ll be loyal to his gang more than to me. He’ll choose them every time, no matter what happens. I have to remember that.
I watch him for a second more and then tear myself away, slipping upstairs.
I don’t sleep well, and my dreams are filled with images of my dad and the guys, and me, not being sure what to do or how to save one and keep the others. When I wake up, I have a headache, and all I really want to do is crawl back underneath the covers and sleep for a week, but of course, I can’t. I get up early and text Paul to meet me in class again, saying I have some solid information for him.
He’s there waiting for me when my Sociology class starts, and I sit next to him the same as before. Just like last time, I pull out a piece of paper and write down everything I know. The accountant’s name, the amount of money I saw on Levi’s phone, and the dates I found in their rooms. I’m not sure how it all pieces together, but maybe someone in one of the two gangs will be able to make more sense of it.
Paul takes his time reading it when I pass him the note and then nods, tearing the part with the information off and stuffing it into his pocket.
He quickly scribbles a note on the paper that’s left and passes it back to me.
That’s a good start. You need to find out where this guy lives, though. We need that info. That would definitely be worth something. This isn’t specific enough to be worth all that much.
I fight the urge to roll my eyes when I read it. For fuck’s sake. It’s not specific enough, even though I went to so much trouble to get it, sneaking around and…
Whatever. I grab my pen and write back.
Okay. I’ll try.
